Noel ran her hands over the console, tendrils of cyan Aether working its way into the Dawnhouse's systems.

She and her drones had cut into the hull of the ship from below as it soared above the city, and from there made their way to the engine room. She hadn't encountered as much resistance as she'd expected -- something else was distracting security, it seemed, and she'd seen more than a couple of corpses on her way here.

Still, it wasn't her job to worry about things like that. Her job was to end this.

It was a strange sensation, inhabiting a system like this. It was almost like forcing your hand into a sock-puppet -- but a puppet that warped your hand to suit its shape. She could feel the ship's systems in her own mind, her Aether translating them into mental processes, as familiar to her as her own memories.

Thrusters and steering. Those were what she needed.

Apart from her and the entourage of drones she'd brought along as defense, the engine room was empty. The massive hulk of machinery rumbled in the center of the chamber, the smoke and steam being pumped away in tubes to be expelled along the exterior of the ship. Noel, and the console she was using to access the systems, were tiny by comparison.

This engine was what was going to do it. Finally, finally, Noel would matter.

The instructions she'd been given were very simple -- rewrite the ships navigation, have it ram full-speed into Toptown, shaving away the seats of power. That whole section of the city would fall down into the Pit, dead rich and living poor being united at last.

The problems of society were knots -- and there was no better way to deal with knots than cutting them apart.

With the merest flick of her wrist, she could set the Dawnhouse on that path, turn it into the shining bullet that brought a new day. Still, she hesitated. How many people would this kill? How many zeroes?

A flare of anger warmed her chest. Why was she worrying about pointless things like that? Hadn't she already decided?

Her own words echoed, whispered by the very walls: "I hate this city. I hate this planet. I hate this whole entire galaxy, really, now that I think about it."

She'd said that, hadn't she? So why couldn't she follow through? Was she all talk?

"I…"

The walls were merciless. "This whole world is trash, and so are all the people who live in it. Trash. Trash."

There was no decision to be made. She'd already decided she was going to do this, hadn't she? That she would matter?

Noel flicked her wrist.

Nothing happened.

She blinked. What? That wasn't right, she was certain she'd gotten into the navigation systems. She plunged her Aether in deeper, inspected the electronic web more closely. Had she missed something?

She had.

There was already something else hijacking the systems -- a virus, surging through the controls and forcing them into a new shape. It wasn't pretty: the virus' control over the navigation was rough and forceful, like someone bending a finger backwards. Her brute force attacks weren't working against it, either -- it simply recreated whatever parts of itself she managed to expunge.

The Dawnhouse wouldn't do as she wanted. It wouldn't hit Toptown. Her heart dropped as she realized: the Dawnhouse was going to hit something entirely different.

----------------------------------------

"Okay," said Dragan, swinging around in his chair to face Muzazi. "What do you know about nendon gas?"

Muzazi furrowed his brow. "What is nendon gas?"

Shit.

Dragan's explanation came out quick and uncertain, words spilling out of his mouth before he could put them into a presentable shape. "Okay -- um, it's a kind of fuel, I guess -- to power starships, it's what Taldan was built for, because this was originally a mining colony. The inside of the planet below us? It's full -- it's full of nendon gas. Jam-packed. You understand?"

Muzazi nodded. "It's abundant, yes. What of it?"

"It's abundant," Dragan nodded back. "Yes, yes, it's abundant. You know what else it is? Volatile. Like, explosively volatile. The worst kind. That's why they need protective gear to mine it in its unrefined form. The slightest spark can set it off, and well -- it's really good fuel. It blows the fuck up."

Muzazi visibly paled -- good. He seemed to understand. "So below us, inside the planet…?"

"It's basically a giant bomb. Now, I imagine the actual, uh, severity of what could happen if it goes up has been played down because these guys like money and evacuation doesn't make good money, but our guy over there," he pointed at Roz's body. "He found something out. Hence why they killed him."

"What is to be done?" mused Muzazi, turning his pipe over in his hands. "This -- this bomb, how would they detonate it?"

"I found out on the way here -- the Dawnhouse, this huge ship, is flying above the city for a party. If you flew that right into the central mineshaft, I bet that'd be more than the spark you'd need."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Muzazi stood up, eyes firm. "Then we must take that Dawnhouse."

As expected. He'd provided Muzazi with a heroic quest, and now he was eager to go. He might not have been as bombastic about it as Patel, but they truly were two of a kind.

All they needed now was a way out of here --

"Be silent," Muzazi suddenly hissed. He was staring at the exit, at the door he'd welded shut. Dragan opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but a sharp glance from the swordsman silenced him.

There was a click from outside.

"Get down!" Muzazi roared, grabbing Dragan by the back of his collar and leaping backwards, pulling both of them behind the console. A second later, all hell broke loose.

The door burst inwards, the controls exploding in a shower of sparks and broken glass as they were overloaded. Smoke poured into the room from outside -- and as Dragan staggered back up to his feet he saw a huge hand pull the hole in the door open wider.

A second hand came into view, holding a massive stun cannon, and then a face. Familiar eyes glared at Dragan.

"Hey, Dir," Dragan said nervously, backing up a little as the security chief climbed into the room through the hole he'd blasted. "Fancy seeing you here."

As per usual, not a trace of humour infiltrated Dir's expression. There were only the slightest hints of disappointment and grim purpose.

"Hadrien," he said, raising the cannon up. "I thought you were smarter than this."

Unlike Dragan, Muzazi hadn't retreated in the least -- instead, he pointed his pipe towards Dir. "Do not act rashly," he said quietly. "You're outnumbered -- and we know of your plans."

The only part of Dir that moved were his eyes, glancing over at Muzazi. "My plans?" he said slowly. There was the slightest sense of confusion in his tone.

He didn't know what the Sponsor of War was planning. That made sense -- when Dragan had spoken with the Sponsor of War, he'd gotten the sense that Dir was more of a useful pawn than an equal partner.

Dragan suppressed a smirk. Someone who was being used was the easiest person to convince to take your side, especially when you knew what they were being used for.

"Dir," he said quietly, grabbing the security chief's attention once again. "What is it you think is happening here?"

There was a moment's hesitation. "Apprehending a terrorist. You've broken into a secure government installation, released an agent of a hostile government, and assassinated the warden."

"Okay," Dragan gulped. "Strictly speaking, that's true. But you're missing a lot of context."

Muzazi glanced at Dragan over his shoulder. "You assassinated someone?" he said. There was an uncomfortably judgy tone to his speech.

"Yes, well, technically Patel did it," he jerked his head back towards the unconscious warrior, slumped in his chair. "But I sort of helped."

If anything, Muzazi's estimation of him seemed to drop even lower, judging by his gaze. "You didn't even do it yourself," he muttered, turning back to Dir.

Dir looked around the ruined room -- at the blank monitors, the smoke pouring out of the hallways, the chaos left behind by their escape. "I don't see what context there could be for this."

"The Sponsor of War's planning to blow up the planet."

The security chief's eyes widened, just fractionally, and his head snapped back to look at Dragan. "That's ridiculous."

"It is, yeah, I know," Dragan replied, nodding frantically. "Ridiculously true. It's possible. I just explained it to Muzazi here. Muzazi, explain it to him."

"What?"

I need to think of a way out of this. Dragan tried to communicate that message with just his eyes as he shot a glance at Muzazi. He wasn't especially sure if the Special Officer quite got it, but he turned back to Dir all the same.

"You see," Muzazi said, supremely confident. "This entire planet is actually a massive bomb. The Dawnhouse is actually a bomb, as well, and this Sponsor of War has snuck aboard the ship, removed the captain, and intends to fly it inside a mine. Hence, the destruction of the planet."

Close enough.

Dragan looked down at the stun cannon Dir had clutched in his hand. It was a huge weapon, barrel-shaped, thicker than the arm that was holding it. From what Dragan understood, it worked via firing off a wave of force designed to disrupt motor impulses. Total loss of bodily control.

Basically, if you got caught in it, your arrest wasn't going to be big on dignity.

He was pretty sure Muzazi could take a shot from that -- unlike when Dragan had shot him in the back, he knew that this attack was potentially coming. He could brace himself for it.

Dragan, though? He'd barely been able to block a single plasmashot. He wasn't exactly confident in his ability to resist this.

Running for it was risky. Even if he managed to get past Dir and head down the hallway, there'd be nothing stopping the security chief from shooting him in the back -- except for Muzazi. And even so, he couldn't imagine Muzazi taking him attempting to escape well at all.

Negotiation was the best bet after all, then.

Dir was looking at Muzazi, brow furrowed, still trying to process the garbled nonsense the Special Officer had turned Dragan's explanation into. His hand was still on the cannon -- ready to lift up and fire at a moment's notice. Dragan would have to be careful not to provoke him.

He quietly cleared his throat, just loud enough to attract Dir's attention.

"It's the nendon gas, Dir," he said seriously. "The inside of the planet is full of it. You know that. They're going to fly the Dawnhouse right into the central mineshaft and blow the whole thing up. You know it's possible."

Dir snorted. "And why would they do that?"

Dragan faltered, mind scrambling for motivation. He couldn't leave too much of a gap between responses here -- he had to keep Dir on the hook.

Gears hurriedly clicked together. "The whole thing's more trouble than it's worth now. The Citizen, Muzazi… the UAP central government was going to find out what was happening here soon enough. This is just getting rid of the evidence." Another thought occurred. "Besides, I'd bet this planet is full of other resources too, right? Minerals, ores? They can switch over to collecting that stuff as part of the clean-up operation. It's just another kind of racket."

Dir took a deep breath, looking down at the cannon in his hand. There was doubt in his eyes, building as he listened to Dragan. He was right on the verge of believing.

"You know it's possible, Dir," Dragan repeated, prodding him further over the cliff of belief. "You know they would."

"I…" Dir's voice was quiet. He closed his eyes.

Muzazi shifted ever-so-slightly into a combat stance, holding his pipe as if it were a farball bat. Idiot, idiot -- They were getting through to him!

"You know," Dragan insisted, taking a step forward.

Dir opened his eyes. They were cold and empty, like the windows of a house that had been abandoned for many years. Dragan realized too late: this was a broken man. Free will was poison to his mind. He couldn't disobey anymore than he could stop breathing.

Dir's voice was flat. "Orders are orders."

He raised the cannon. He fired.